Before the Snow Falls
by Spinyfruit
Summary: Lovino, jersey number nine, right winger. He was ready to pass the ball, ready to set up the win, but Antonio, opposite team, center fielder, was ready too. Someone thought, and someone didn't, and they crashed. Hard. A few months later, Lovino's on crutches, Antonio has scholarships, and they have to deal with the aftermath of what happened. —Spamano, two-shot.
1. December

_This is the terribly-way-too-long-overdue-gift fic for The Goliath Bettle xD I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean for it to fall this far behind. Life, school, you know? I hope it was somewhat, kind of, sort of worth the wait? A little? Meh? I'm so sorry, haha. To make it worse, I split into two parts. I hate myself haha xD Go check out her wonderful fics if you haven't already! She's absolutely amazing._

_I hope you enjoy this little two-shot :)_

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><p><strong>Before the Snow Falls<strong>

~/~

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><p><em>December<em>

* * *

><p>Antonio was cold. He was always cold these days. It was the middle of a strange in-between season for him. Soccer ended at the start of November, and the school semester ended in two weeks. There was some snow here and there: it fell, but it rarely stuck. All the same, snow meant he couldn't practice, and he didn't really care for studying, since he could always manage without it somehow.<p>

Winter was boring. Still. Lifeless. It's as though everything in his world was slowly coming to a halt, and Antonio didn't like it. He never liked it.

His breath bloomed in the air like clouds, and he entertained himself by breathing heavily and watching it fade away with the wind.

"Where did Francis tell us to meet him again?" Gilbert asked as he shuffled his hands together.

Antonio tilted his gaze away from the ground, and towards the glass and stone buildings. "Um…it was that bookstore. The one—it's brick? You know? With tea…?" Antonio trailed off with a weak laugh. He couldn't remember the name for the life of him. He rarely went there.

But Gilbert seemed to understand and he gave a nod. "Hm, yeah. He likes that place. Fucking weirdo."

Antonio chuckled. "I think it gives him inspiration, or something like that."

"It makes him feel pretentious, that's what," Gilbert scoffed with a shake of his head. He blew on his hands shortly before tucking them into his pockets. "Damn it, why is it so cold? I hate this. We should've just stayed in the dorm."

Specks of snow nested on Antonio's skin. The cold was biting. He looked in the reflection.

"Yeah," he replied, and they kept walking.

~/~

After some aimless meandering, a few lost stares, and quite a bit of cursing on Gilbert's part, they managed to find the bookstore. It was weathered brick and dusted glass windows that stretched to an impressive three stories. It was an old bookstore, but it was a large and extensive one. Francis attended St. Paul's academy as well, but he didn't play soccer like Gilbert and Antonio; he dabbled in the equestrian club, the tennis team, and sometimes the drama club. But mostly, he spent his time writing poetry and songs in the café of the bookstore, always at the side-table next to the window, furthest away from the chill of the swinging door, and with the best view of the occasional barista that worked there.

Gilbert and Antonio spotted him tapping away on his silver laptop, and they were quick to the usual routine: dragging chairs from other tables and sitting down across from Francis.

"Hey man, finally found you," Gilbert announced, with a sigh. He rubbed his hands together again.

"How're the love songs coming along?"

"Please don't generalize my writing like that. I write about a myriad of topics," Francis replied defensively and crossed his arms.

"Really?" Gilbert raised an eyebrow, and turned to Antonio. "What's on his laptop now?"

Antonio peered over Francis's shoulders before the laptop was frantically covered. "'Ode to Barista Number 4'."

Gilbert grinned, and Francis closed his laptop hurriedly. "Oh, whatever," he muttered. "At least I have a hobby. What've you two been doing? I don't think I've seen you for more than five minutes at a time since the final game two weeks ago."

Gilbert leaned back in his chair and frowned. "Yeah, well, I've been on restriction this week. Pissy little R.A. Vash tattle-taled to the teachers that I wasn't sick, so now they know I skipped English three times."

"Ah, I see," Francis laughed softly. After a beat, he tilted his head curiously. "Wait, then how are you out tonight?"

"Eh, little bro owed me a favor, so he's covering for me," Gilbert smiled smugly, and rested his hands behind his head.

"Really? I can't see Ludwig bending the rules for you," Francis pointed out.

Antonio stared out the window. The glass was frosty and shiny, but behind it, he watched people hurry back and forth. No one else seemed to like the cold either.

"Yeah, well he kind of owed me after what I found hiding under his bed."

Across the street he caught fast glimpses of someone standing still behind the bustle of the crowd. He was just standing there, or maybe he was trying to get through?

"_Ohonhonhon_," Francis laughed deviously, almost too happily. He leaned forward in eager amusement. "What has our darling little moral entrepreneur got into now?"

A few seconds passed, and the person – a boy – limped through the crowd, and turned his head both ways, checking for cars. The road was clear, and slowly, he hobbled across the shiny, black pavement; the fog on the glass was too thick for Antonio to make out his face.

"Toni."

"Hm?"

"Toni." Gilbert nudged Antonio's shoulder roughly, stirring him awake.

Antonio blinked, and he shifted his eyes to Francis, though they were still soft and faraway. "Sorry," he laughed lightly. "I was zoning out. What did you say?"

Francis cupped his cheek in his hand, and examined his friend's face. "I asked what you've been up to. You've been even more of an enigma than Gilbert."

"Oh, sorry," Antonio smiled shyly, and scratched the back of his neck. "I haven't been doing anything much. I usually go running after classes, or I'm in the gym."

"Or you're dribbling that goddamn ball until one in the morning," Gilbert added with a roll of his eyes.

Francis's forehead creased slightly. "That sounds like a lot. You're not pushing yourself too hard are you?"

"Of course not," Antonio laughed, his eyes alight. "Without actual practice, I have to do is the least I could do."

The bell above the door jingled, and Antonio straightened his back to attention, when he noticed the same figure from across the street limp through the door. Oh.

"Well, as long as you're sure, but you should let me know if –"

"Wait, Francis," Antonio interrupted him, and subtly gestured to the left with his chin. "The person who just walked through the door, is that…"

Francis twisted around in his seat, and gave a good stare. "Oh," he sighed, and turned back around. His shoulders slumped with relief. "Yes, that's him. He comes here rather often. You had me worried there with your tone."

Antonio frantically exchanged glances between Francis and the boy, now wandering away behind bookcases. "But that's—he's the boy from St. Mary's. The one I ran into, right?"

"Yes, of course. Don't you recognize him?" Francis asked.

"Wait," Gilbert looked towards the direction of the boy, and back to Antonio. "That's the kid you basically _collided_ into? The one that gave you that nasty bruise? God, what a little brat."

Antonio frowned and gave his friend a level stare. "It was an accident. And he had to be carried away on a stretcher. He had it a lot worse than I did," Antonio said, his eyes straining to scan over the bookcases. "I wonder what happened to him. Do you think he sprained his ankle?" _But it would be sort of strange for him to still be on crutches after all of this time. Could it be worse?_

Suddenly, Antonio backed his chair out from the table and stood up.

"Hey, where are you going?" Gilbert asked, mildly surprised.

"Um," Antonio said, barely paying attention. His heart pinched with guilt at the October memory circling in his mind. "I think…I think I should go apologize to him. I never really got the chance to after the game."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? After all, the incident was a bit traumatic for everyone, perhaps it'd be best if you—hey! Toni!" Francis called, and raised his voice when he noticed his friend had scampered away without him. After Antonio was out of sight he exhaled a loud breath and looked to Gilbert. "Well, what do you think the odds are that this won't end terribly?"

~/~

Cooking...no.

Psychology...no.

Antonio paced past the wooden bookcases, towards the back of the store. So far, there was no sign of the boy—what was his name? Had Antonio ever heard it? No, never. He never heard anything. Not when he was on the field.

But Antonio does remember him. The red and grey Jersey: the colors of St. Mary's. The number…nine. His position: forward, a right winger. Anything else?

Eyes. Antonio remembered his eyes. They were always running into each other, their positions clashed a lot, but it never seemed to go by fast. He lingered in those golden eyes for ages. Seconds too long usually, it cost him a few goals; but there was something so unusual, so interesting about them. He looked like he was thinking; he looked so aware, like he was trying to understand everything. Maybe he was trying to predict Antonio's next move. He did that rather often.

Antonio gave up on the first floor, and decided to climb the stairs to the second, towards young adult, and fiction. He reached the top and realized it was his first time actually coming up here. That's a bit…sad.

He chuckled a bit meekly to himself and began meandering the floor, noticing it looked very much the same. He passed case after case, stand after stand, table after table until—_aha!_

Antonio spotted him sitting on a lounge chair with a book in hand, his dark, auburn hair, glinting under the florescent light. He looked so…still. It was strange.

But Antonio didn't stare dumb too long before he remembered to move, and he took short, tentative steps forward, fidgeting with the collar of his Varsity Soccer team hoodie as he did so. He felt too self conscious all of a sudden. His heartbeat raced and somehow, despite the frosty chill from only fifteen minutes ago, his palms sweat. What if number nine was angry with him? What if he hated him? What then?

"U-um," Antonio coughed preemptively, before he lost the nerve.

At once, the boy lifted his eyes from the book to Antonio. He didn't say anything, but those same eyes stirred brown and golden, too many emotions and thoughts stirring together for Antonio to pick just one.

"H-hi, I'm Antonio. I, um," Antonio paused and dropped his small wave to twist his fingers together nervously. "I go to St. Paul's: th-the school on the west side."

The boy was still quiet, his lips pursed, and his eyes sharp.

Antonio laughed shortly to fill the void. "I play soccer, and I-I think I recognize you from St. Mary's team, right?"

The boy opened his mouth once, closed it, then said, "Yeah."

_Oh_, Antonio thought. _His voice is a lot deeper than I would've imagined_. "Um, I don't know if you remember me, but I think I kind of ran into you during our game in October. I never got a chance to apologize, since they took you away, but I'm..._really_ sorry," Antonio said earnestly, and he glanced down at the boy's leg, then to his eyes again. "Um, were you hurt very badly?"

The boy tilted his gaze down at his book briefly, and he thumbed over the corner of the book. Then he looked up at Antonio, eyes flat. "Not really. My coach and brother just like to baby me," he replied simply, and closed his book. "Don't worry, you're not that clumsy."

"Oh, really?" Antonio exclaimed, his lips splitting into a grin. He considered hugging him, and moved his arms out in preparation, but the boy backed away.

"Hey—no hugging, bastard," he ordered, his cheeks red.

"Oh," Antonio laughed, a bit embarrassed, and dropped his hands to his side. "Sorry, I'm just so relieved. I thought about you a lot after that game. You looked like you were in a lot of pain, so I was really worried," he explained, and he gave another easy, happy, grin. "So how much longer do you have to use crutches? Are you going to play next year? Wait, what year are you? Oh, what's your na—"

"Shut up." The boy pointed to the chair across from him and continued, "Sit down, and keep quiet."

Antonio did as he was told, a bit stunned, but still smiling happily. He folded his arms over his lap and looked at the boy expectantly, waiting for him to stop raking his fingers through his hair and talk.

"God, you," the boy started and glanced at Antonio shortly, his cheeks bright. "You talk a lot more than I thought you would."

"Oh," Antonio chuckled, and played with the sleeves of his hoodie again. "I guess so. Maybe. When I'm excited at least."

"But you always looked so serious when you played soccer. Like you were actually smart or something," he said, and habitually fixed his hair again. Before Antonio could offer any defense, the boy continued, "Anyway, this is my last week on crutches. Yes, I'm going to play next year. And I'm a junior."

Antonio nodded his head, waiting for the last answer. "And what's your name?" he urged.

The boy ran his fingers over the cover of the book. "Lovino."

"That's such a pretty name," Antonio gushed, enjoying the new wave of red coloring Lovino's olive skin. "My name's Antonio."

"You already said that," Lovino pointed out, and his eyes flashed to Antonio's again, almost annoyed.

"Oh, sor—"

"And stop apologizing, damn it," Lovino muttered, and drummed his fingers over the hard cover.

"Okay," Antonio smiled. "I'm a junior too, and I'm playing next year."

"Did I ask you?" Lovino replied sarcastically.

Antonio tried to glance at the cover of the book. "What are you reading?"

Lovino's eyes flicked to his a bit surprised, then he looked down at his book, his ears red. "Um, _Arabian Nights_."

"Sounds like fun! Do you like it?" Antonio asked curiously.

Lovino opened the book and closed it, unsure of what to do. "Yeah, it's fine. It's interesting. Strange. I don't know."

Antonio looked at him a bit differently. "Do you read a lot?"

"I guess," Lovino mumbled. Then he shifted his eyes to Antonio's tauntingly. "Probably more than you anyway."

Antonio grinned. "That's probably true. I just play a lot of soccer."

Lovino bit his lip, and looked down.

"So, um, what sort of injury did you have? Sprained ankle?" Antonio asked, and took another glance at Lovino's clothed legs.

"Something like that," Lovino said.

Antonio tilted his head to the side in suspicion. "So when can you play again?"

Lovino ran his fingers over the cover of _Arabian Nights_. "I don't know."

"Oh," Antonio replied. "I see." There was a silence: it was full with words neither of them said.

_Beep!_

Lovino jumped slightly from his seat and darted his eyes demandingly at Antonio, who in turn, was fishing the phone out of his pocket. He swiped the screen and stopped the alarm.

"Oh, sorry. I have to go back soon," Antonio said shyly.

Lovino's eyebrows scrunched. "What—is your curfew at seven?"

That made Antonio laugh, and he just shook his head. "No, no. But I have to be back at school to get something."

Lovino pressed his lips together, impatient for a real answer. But when he saw Antonio stand up and get himself in order, he scoffed and turned away. "Whatever. I don't care anyway."

Antonio glanced at Lovino's puffed, red cheeks and knit eyebrows and smiled. "You know," he began, and caught Lovino's attention. "You're a lot nicer than I thought you'd be."

"What?" Lovino choked, and his eyebrows shot up at the same time his hands flew to his face (desperate to hide his furious new blush), and his book dropped to the floor. The sound knocked some sense in him, and he hurriedly picked it up, muttering, "I'm not nice, damn it."

Antonio chuckled again, feeling a bit more warm and alive. "I didn't say you were nice, I just said you were nicer."

Lovino hugged the book to his chest and turned his gaze away. "Whatever."

There was another pause. Antonio was content taking one last look at him, still very happy and relieved with the situation. On that, he began walking away, waving his hand and saying, "Well, see you later, Lovi!"

"Yeah, yeah, bye—the fuck?" Lovino shouted abruptly, silencing the low murmurs of book-readers at once. "I'm not Lovi, I'm Lovino! Especially to you!"

Antonio laughed, and flashed one last cheery smile before descending the steps.

~/~

_There he was. Forward, right winger, number nine. Moving forward, forward, forward. He had the ball. He passed it. I need to get there. Where's Gilbert? Where's Gilbert?_

_Left. No one._

_Right. No one._

_I need to get there. I need to get there. I need to get there._

_Faster._

_Faster._

_Faster._

Antonio followed his pace up the switchblades of the hill, the mountainous trail behind the equestrian stables. He had time before his eight thirty class, so he decided to go for a brisk run. And by brisk, it meant very, very brisk. Twenty degrees Fahrenheit, clouds overcast in preparation of snow, and the trail already frosty, slippery, and mushy.

Antonio hated the cold. He hated it. Usually, he didn't mind the run so much. At least he could preoccupy himself with the color of the leaves, the color of the sky, the sun. Where was the color now? Where was the life? This felt empty. Still. Lifeless. Antonio wanted to keep going. He wanted to run until spring, he wanted to find it faster.

_Faster._

_Faster._

_Faster._

~/~

"Toni."

Snow was falling in puffs.

"Toni."

"Hm," Antonio mumbled his reply. Why wasn't snow so delicate in real life?

Someone nudged his shoulder and said, "Toni, you're shaking the desk."

Antonio looked at Gilbert, and down at his restless leg. "Oh," he breathed, and chuckled lightly. "Sorry."

Gilbert rolled his eyes and picked up his pencil again. "Drink too much caffeine or something?"

"No, it's just snowing," Antonio sighed, and unwittingly, he bounced his leg again.

Gilbert dropped his pencil and glared. "Of course it's snowing. It's fucking winter. Will you just chill out?" He laughed once at his own joke and added, "Get it?"

Antonio pressed his lips together to fight a smile, and kept his eyes glued to the window. "I need to practice though. I _need_ to. I'm—I'm losing my touch."

"With what? Soccer?" Gilbert asked, a bit exasperated. Antonio was shaking his leg again, and he threw his pencil down in defeat. "Toni, everyone's losing their touch. It's winter. We're not Russians, we can only do so much. Just focus on something else for a while. Anything. Something."

Antonio didn't even bother looking his way. "What else is there?"

Gilbert dropped his forehead to his textbook and groaned. "Fuck, you're acting like Francis. When did you become so dramatic?"

Dramatic. Was that what he was? It didn't really feel like it. Antonio felt restless. Agitated. Worried. Desperate. But dramatic?

No, he wasn't being dramatic at all.

~/~

_Number nine has the ball. How'd he get the ball? Doesn't matter, I have to get the ball._

_Turn on my heel, the grass crunches and releases beneath my cleats._

_One. Two. Three. There he is. Red and grey jersey, number nine, forward, right winger with golden eyes. He looks left. He looks at me._

_I need to reach him. Four. Five. Six._

The door opened abruptly, and Antonio's shoulders twitched. He glanced to his right and waited; there was some remaining laughter, and slowly, Alfred walked out. He was smiling broadly, like always, and that made Antonio's heart rest easier.

"Alfred," Antonio called bashfully. "H-how was it?"

"Oh, the meeting?" Alfred gestured the door and laughed again, booming and loud. "It was fantastic. You have nothing to worry about. Just go on in, bro!" Alfred clapped a hand hard against Antonio's back and strolled out of the lounge.

Antonio smiled weakly, and rubbed his back.

"Antonio Carriedo? Are you there?" A feminine voice rung in the air.

"Ah, yes!" Antonio exclaimed, and stumbled to his feet right away. He rushed to the door, took a breath, and slowly walked in; he made sure to shut the door behind him.

At the desk, Miss Héderváry sat still, a polite smile on her lips, and letters stacked to either side of her.

"Good afternoon, Antonio. Take a seat, will you?" she said cheerfully, and gestured to the chair.

Antonio hurriedly plopped down, and looked to her, smile ready.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

Antonio looked at her dumbly. That wasn't what he expected. He wanted to know about the letters. They were right there. Maybe they weren't his? "Um, I-I'm fine."

"Good," she said, and glanced to the letters. "Let's get right to the point then. I'm sure you're very curious."

Antonio chuckled—it wasn't funny, but he tended to laugh when he was nervous.

Miss Héderváry dropped a pile in front of her. "So, how do you think you did?"

Antonio blinked, and shifted his gaze to the pile. He started counting. "Um…well, like ten?"

Her grin turned mischievous. "More like twenty," she said, and smoothly, she moved another pile in front.

Antonio could only stare. "Twenty?"

"Twenty," she reaffirmed, and picked up the top letter. "This one from Stanford. Notre Dame. Georgetown. Wakeforest. Dartmouth. UCLA. Syracuse," she listed in tempo as she tossed the letters to Antonio's lap. "Twenty D1 schools that offered you a full ride. Twenty D1 schools that want you."

They want me? "R-really?" Antonio stuttered. His heart was pounding again. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," she said, and her eyes softened. "You shouldn't be so surprised. You've been playing Varsity since you were a Freshman, and I know you had scouts eyeing you before you came here."

He smiled humbly, and looked down at the letters. "Yeah, but…that's middle school and high school. I mean, I never thought—I never knew if I was good enough for college."

Miss Héderváry tilted her head to the pile, all decorated with different seals and colors. "Well, what do you think now?"

He glanced at the letters, then at Miss Héderváry. "I feel happy."

"Good. But what do you think?"

"Um," he began, and somehow, his eyes found the window. The sky—it was clear now. How many days has it been since he's seen blue? "I think," he said, and tried to make out the weather. It'd finally stopped snowing.

"I think I need to go running before it gets dark."

~/~

Antonio decided to go a different way for his run. He assumed that the mountain trail behind the equestrian club was probably still very wet and mushy, so he thought perhaps he'd take the flatter, longer trail towards the main park. Already the sunlight losing itself to the clouds, but Antonio pushed on.

He dashed through the bite of the cold, winter air. He dashed fast, and smooth, agile, and very determined. And despite the lonely chill of the trail, and the tumbling grey clouds overhead, he felt happy.

_They want me. I'm good enough. I'm good._

But at the same time…

_I can be better. I want to be the best._

So he pushed on even faster, and rushed into the park. It was predictably empty, abandoned, and iced over. A few swings swayed with the breeze, but no one else existed except Antonio and—

One other person.

From the corner of his eye, Antonio caught the familiar glint of red-brown hair, and he slowed down to get a better look. His eyes found the hunched figure sitting on the plain wooden bench that overlooked downtown, his back facing Antonio.

Could it be him? Just the question compelled Antonio to stop in his tracks, halt the timer on his phone, and step closer.

"Lovino?" he asked tentatively between pants, and removed the headphones from his ears.

Lovino didn't respond, but Antonio walked to his side anyway. He was sitting still, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his parka, and his eyes staring blankly at the ground.

Antonio didn't know what to do, but on some instinct, he decided to sit down next to him. He looked up at the sky and he knew it was definitely going to snow again. How depressing.

The wind blew by and some leaves flew over their shoes.

"I can't play soccer anymore."

Antonio's breath caught, and slowly, almost fearfully, he turned towards Lovino. "What?"

"I can't play soccer anymore," Lovino repeated.

Antonio's heartbeat echoed in his ears. "Wha—Why?"

Lovino's eyes didn't stray away from the ground. "I tore my ACL."

"You," Antonio gulped, and his gaze travelled to Lovino's knees. "When we ran into each other you…?"

Lovino nodded. "I didn't think it was going to be a big deal. The coach took me to the doctor and he said I would need surgery."

"Oh," Antonio said. "When is your surgery?"

"I had it three weeks ago," Lovino replied, his lashes brushing briefly against his skin. "It went well, but the doctor told me the recovery period is six to nine months. And there's a good chance I won't play like before."

_Most people don't. And usually after you tear one ACl, you'll end up tearing the other._

"Lovino, I—" Antonio stopped and tried to fight the stinging in his eyes. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. Really, I…I'm sorry."

Lovino pushed some of the dirt around with his shoe. "What were you thinking when it happened?"

"What?" Antonio asked, a bit surprised.

"Your expression. I couldn't tell what you were thinking, so I didn't know which way to go."

"Oh, I," Antonio racked his brain, searching for the memory. "I can't—I can't remember."

Lovino finally tilted his face towards Antonio, his eyes dark and mysterious like the clouds. "I guess you hit the ground pretty hard," he said, and turned back towards the ground.

"Yeah," Antonio mumbled.

It was quiet. Some birds flew away.

"I lost my scholarships too."

_No._ "Oh, gosh. Lovino, I'm so sor—"

"Don't apologize," Lovino interrupted. He sighed and added, "It's annoying."

Antonio opened his mouth say sorry again, but closed it before he could get in trouble again.

Lovino leaned back in the chair and looked up at the sky. "I wish it would snow."

Antonio laughed, and leaned back too. "I hate snow."

"I like how the snow makes everything quiet. It makes me quiet," Lovino said softly.

Antonio watched the clouds clash together. "Snow stops soccer though."

"I know," Lovino said.

A new gust of wind rustled their hair. Lovino's locks brushed against his forehead, and Antonio's curls bounced. It felt even colder than before.

"What are you going to do now?" Antonio asked, and he watched the smooth expressionless skin of Lovino's face. Even those eyes lacked life. Winter killed everything.

He bit his lips, bringing some color back to them, and replied, "Read I guess."

That answer seemed too simple. It had no passion.

"Okay."

Antonio sat with him a while longer. He was worried that if he left, Lovino might've stayed there all night. Eventually, Antonio called a taxi, and ushered Lovino's limping body into the car. Lovino didn't thank him, he didn't say anything; but his eyes did pass over Antonio's face. They were glassy and far away.

Antonio hated winter. It killed everything.

~/~

_I have him. Number nine, the ball under his right cleat. I have him. I'm near him. His gold eyes met mine. Trying to read my moves. What are my moves? Which way should I go? _

_Gilbert. Where's Gilbert? Aha._

_All right. One. Two. Three. I'm close. Once I snag the ball I'll pass it_—

_…_

_…_

_…_

_"Fuck_—_oh god, fucking damn it. Shit. Damn. God, it hurts!"_

_What?_

_"Toni? Are you okay?"_

_"Shit-fuck-damn. Hey_—_stop it! That hurts damn it!"_

_Someone sounds like they're crying._

_"Toni? Hey, are you there, buddy?"_

_Somehow, slowly, I opened my eyes and I see blue. The clear, blue October sky right above me. It's beautiful, but I'm on the ground. How did I get here?_

_"Toni," Gilbert said, and I felt his rough hands grab my arms. "Okay, let's get you up, now."_

_He hoisted me up easily, so that I was sitting up right and staring wildly around me. _

_"Wait, what happened?" I asked, and I felt a pain in my side. "Ay, and why does my hip hurt?"_

_Gilbert's bright red eyes looked at me, and the corners crinkled in concern. "Don't you remember? You knocked into the other kid, and fell to the floor. It looks like he took the worst of it though."_

_"Ga_—_damn it! Feli, I told you to leave it alone! I'm fine!" _

_That voice. "Is he crying?" I turned around, despite the shock of pain, and looked at the boy. He was surrounded by his teammates, and his coach, and the referees. "Is he really hurt?"_

_Gilbert frowned and followed my gaze. "Yeah, it looks like it. Both of you took a really hard fall," he said, then tapped my shoulder. He stared me straight in the eyes. "Why didn't you move out of the way, Toni?"_

_I could only blink at him._

_Why didn't I move? I don't remember. I was running towards him, I thought about passing it to Gilbert, then I saw gold, and then…nothing._

_"I don't know."_

_Absolutely nothing._

_~/~ _

It was in the middle of one of Antonio's math class daydreams where he had the idea. For a few days he was still reminiscing about his meeting with Lovino. Really, it haunted him. It looked as though Lovino had died along with the trees. Or—maybe not died. He looked lost. Like the red and brown leaves that still floated in the wind.

So after class, Antonio made a point to race to the book club's meeting, always on the very top floor of the main building.

He opened the door, and immediately silenced the roar of girlish gossip. Ten pairs of eyes stared at him, and one was male.

"Ah, Toni! How nice of you to stop by!" Francis exclaimed, and smiled broadly at him. He dropped the book in his lap and asked, "Are you here to add to our discussion of the young Mr. Darcy, or is there something else you needed?"

The girls giggled, and Antonio in turn, blushed in embarrassment.

"No, um," he stared awkwardly. "I actually needed your help finding someone's number."

"Oh!" the girls gasped, and they started again in low murmurs.

"_Onhonhon,_" Francis laughed, and reached behind him to drag another empty chair. "Why don't you sit down and tell me who this mystery person is, hm?"

"Okay," Antonio said, and dipped his head again when the girls giggled teasingly. He walked around the group and sat down in the chair. "You see, it's someone from St. Mary's. I don't know how to contact him."

Francis's blue eyes danced. "St. Mary's? You couldn't be asking about the young boy you crashed into, right?"

Antonio chuckled lightly out of habit. "Yes, that's him. His name's Lovino Vargas. Do you know of any way I can find his number?"

Francis's lips twisted into a mischievous smile. "And what's the reason for this calculated maneuver. Don't tell me you've _figuratively_ fallen for him now."

The girls laughed again, and Antonio laughed with him, if only to save face and hide his red cheeks. "No, no. That's not the reason. I just need to talk to him."

Francis raised an eyebrow and exchanged glances with the girl next to him. "Well, if you only need to talk to him," he paused dramatically. "I'm sure I can find the number."

"Really?" Antonio grinned, and quickly threw himself over Francis in a fast hug. "Oh, _gracias amigo_! Thank you so much! Can you text me the number when you get it? I have to go a run before dinner, real quick."

"Another run?" Francis called after him. "Toni, you've been working hard all week. What's the point? Practices don't start again until February."

"Ah, well, you know! I have to go! Bye, Francis!" Antonio waved with a broad smile, and skipped out of the classroom. The sound of girls giggling echoing behind him.

~/~

_Ring!_

_Ring!_

_Ring!_

_Ring!_

_… _

_Ring!_

_Rin-_

"Ve~ hello? Who is this?"

Antonio gripped the collar of his jacket nervously. "Oh, um, h-hi…Feli. This is, um, Antonio Carriedo. I go to St. Paul's. Um, I-"

"Oh, you're Lovi's friend! He talked about you. How are you doing?"

Antonio laughed shortly. "Ah, well. Pretty good, I guess. Um, so I was wondering…I tried to call Lovi earlier and he didn't pick up, is there any good time I can reach him, or-"

"Hold on, I can get him right now!"

"Oh, well, if he's busy or something, I can call back later! I don't want to be an inconvenien—"

"Hello? Who is this?" Lovino's clear bass voice rang through the phone. At once, Antonio's heart stuttered, and he tried frantically to recall what he was going to say. "Damn it, Feli. Why'd you hand me the phone? No one's talking."

"Um, hi Lovi," Antonio said, his breath coming fast.

There was a pause, and he heard someone (probably Feli) laugh in the background. "Hey, bastard. Why are you calling my brother?"

"Oh, I—I was trying to call you actually. But you didn't pick up, so I thought maybe I should try to ask him when to reach you," Antonio explained hurriedly.

"So you were the creepy number that called me randomly? Did you really expect me to pick up when I didn't know your number?" Lovino asked, and his voice sounded playful.

"Ay, yeah. I guess I didn't think it through very well," Antonio smiled and leaned back against the damp tree.

"Why the hell do you sound so out of breath?" Lovino asked suddenly. Then he added with a snide voice, "Or do I even want to know?"

Antonio's face warmed, and he was so thankful that he was alone in the woods making the call. "No, no! I was just in the middle of a run! That's all!" Antonio explained, and he chuckled awkwardly at the end.

"Whatever you say," Lovino muttered.

Antonio held the hand with both hands now. "No, really! Lovi, I swear, I'm not doing anything!"

There was a quiet noise. Something like a laugh? Then Lovi said, "Fine, God, I believe you. Calm down. Why were you trying to call me anyway?"

Antonio breathed in relief. "Right. Well, I was wondering if you wanted to meet up in town or something. Like dinner, or a movie, or—"

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

_Dios mio_. Antonio jumped in fright. "What? Oh, no! Of course not! I would never!"

"Well, don't sound so insulted, damn it. I was only kidding. No need to get so defensive," Lovino said roughly.

"I just wanted to hang out with you," Antonio went on, his voice high and anxious. "I thought…maybe, we could be friends. Or something."

"...Friends?" he repeated, his voice soft.

Antonio smiled. "Yeah, actually I really like y—"

"God, shut up Feli! Just go away!" Lovino yelled suddenly, and there was some crashing and giggling rampant in the background. Then it was quiet, and Lovino sighed. "Sorry, I had to beat my brother again."

Antonio chuckled, and picked at the bark of the tree. "So would you like to hang out with me tomorrow afternoon?"

It was quiet. "Sure."

"Okay," Antonio said. "Where would you like to go?"

"Maybe," Lovino paused, and Antonio could sense his hesitation. "That bookstore again," he finished, his voice even softer than before.

"That sounds nice," Antonio said. His heart felt light and his skin buzzed. "What time?"

"Well, when's your curfew, Cinderella?" Lovino asked mockingly.

Antonio laughed and stared up at the sky. "I should be back by seven, but I don't have to."

"I'm not that important. I wouldn't want you to be late for your date or whatever," Lovino replied smoothly, but before Antonio could retort, he continued, "how about five o' clock then."

"That's fine with me!" Antonio exclaimed.

"I didn't doubt it," Lovino said, and the conversation drifted to silence again. "Was there anything else you wanted to say?"

"Not really," Antonio hummed.

"Great."

"How are you doing though?"

"Um," Lovino mumbled, and he took his time finishing. "I'm fine I guess. I'm good."

That sounded like a lie. "Really?"

"Sure. Whatever. Listen, I have to go," he said abruptly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Were you busy?" Antonio asked, suddenly anxious again.

"God, what have I told you about apologizing?" Lovino scolded, to which Antonio chuckled lightly in response. "I'm not busy, I just have to go. I—" he stopped. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay!"

"Don't sound so chipper. I'm sure it'll be boring," Lovino mumbled.

"I don't think you could ever be boring," Antonio replied truthfully. He was sure Lovino's face was red now.

"You don't know me very well, obviously," Lovino said coolly. "Anyway, I'm going. Bye."

Antonio smiled, and jumped back on the trail. "See you soon!"

"…Whatever."

~/~

It was raining.

Antonio stared mindlessly outside the taxi cab window, and watched droplets glide down the glass. It was a fifteen minute ride from the school to downtown, but he was almost there now. Strangely, though his fingers were numb from the cold, he could feel his palms getting clammy from nerves. There was something about Lovino that made him very anxious. Antonio might be the most agile one on the field, but when he talked to Lovino, he never felt more clumsy.

"Is this the place?" the driver asked.

Antonio blinked from his reverie and focused on the buildings, the street. "Ah, yes it is!" he replied, and fished out a few bills from his pocket. "Here you go! Thank you!" he said, and quickly, hopped out of the vehicle and stumbled onto the sidewalk.

He peered over his shoulder and watched the car drive away, then he opened up his automatic umbrella and poised it over his head. At least it was raining and not snowing.

As Antonio was about to start walking across the street towards the bookstore, he saw something in the corner of his eye. Dark, wet hair, not really recognizable; a shiny, black rain jacket; but the profile of someone he knew. Lovino. He was standing in the rain, just staring at the window of some store, and letting the water pour over his face.

"Lovino?" Antonio called lightly, though in the roar of the rain, his voice was drowned out. He skipped closer and hovered his umbrella over the two of them. "Lovino, what are you doing?" he asked worriedly, and followed Lovino's gaze to the glass. "Why are you looking at a gallery?"

Lovino's lips were slightly blue when he said, "Those are my brother's paintings."

Antonio's eyebrows knit in concern, but he looked back at the window. "Oh?"

Lovino nodded his head.

They were landscapes. Paintings of the local forests and lakes. "They're nice."

"Yeah," Lovino mumbled.

The umbrella covered them, but Lovino was still so damp from moments before, Antonio wrapped an arm around his shoulder and ushered him away. "Come on! Let's get some coffee!" he exclaimed happily, and helped pause the cars as he helped Lovino limp across the street.

Lovino hobbled along, and he only once looked up, when Antonio held the door open for him and smiled. Lovino stared, then turned his head and walked inside. While Antonio busied himself with closing the umbrella, Lovino settled for the closest table, and dropped onto the chair. Antonio sat across from him.

"So," Antonio began and took a good look at Lovino in the bright, yellow light. "Should I get us something to drink?"

Lovino crossed his arms over the table and laid his down. "Whatever," he mumbled.

"What would you like?" Antonio asked. He fought the sudden urge to pet Lovino's damp hair.

"Something warm," he said. "And sweet."

Antonio grinned, and scooted out his chair. "Be right back!" he sang, and left for the café .

A few minutes later, Antonio returned, two travel cups in hand, and placed them delicately on the table. Lovino was sitting up right this time, and staring wistfully out the window.

Antonio nudged the cup towards him encouragingly and said, "I got you a peppermint mocha. I hope that's okay."

Lovino tilted his gaze towards him, and his eyes sparkled brightly before they looked down at the cup. "Yeah, that's um," he paused as he grasped the cup shyly. "That's what I usually get around this time."

Antonio smiled at him fondly and replied, "Good." He let Lovino take a sip, before continuing, "So what were you doing outside a gallery in the rain?"

Lovino set the cup down and sighed. "I was just being pissy, that's all."

"What do you mean?"

Lovino stared at the lid and traced lines on the lid with his fingernails. "Feliciano got his paintings hung in a professional gallery. So I was just staring at them and feeling pissy," he muttered. "I wish I was like him, dammit."

"You wish you could paint?" Antonio asked, a bit surprised.

"No. I mean, yeah, sure. I already paint, technically speaking. But, I just wish I," his eyes met Antonio's before flying to the window again. "I just wish I was passionate about something."

Somehow, Antonio couldn't control his laughter, and it bubbled out without his control. "What are you talking about? You're passionate!"

Lovino's cheeks warmed, but he flashed his eyes forward. "You don't even know me! You can't say!"

Antonio pressed his lips together to quench a smile. "But…I do, kind of. We've played soccer against each other for years."

Lovino's eyes widened. "You actually," he stopped and picked up his cup hurriedly. "I-It doesn't matter. It's not like we ever talked or anything. I'm just not passionate about anything like my brother." He glanced at Antonio and added reluctantly, "Or like you I guess."

Antonio chuckled and pointed out, "But you love playing soccer, don't you?" As soon as the words left his mouth, however, he stopped. His face paled with guilt.

Surprisingly, Lovino didn't snap, or tear up. Instead, his cheeks flushed red, and he directed his gaze at the window. "Not really," he said, then closed his eyes. "I mean—I like it. And I'm okay at it. But I don't know…I never cared that much about it. It was never the only thing on my mind."

"Oh?" Antonio's lips turned up in amusement. "That's interesting."

"No, it's not," Lovino mumbled, and he took another sip of his drink.

The bell chimed, and new customers walked through the door.

"So what classes are you taking?" Antonio blurted.

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Why do you care?"

"I'm curious," Antonio said, his green eyes sincere.

Lovino tapped the lid of his drink and answered, "Latin III, AP chemistry, AP European history, AP English, and studio art."

"Oh, wow," Antonio commented, his face glowing with newfound admiration. "You must be really smart!"

"Tsk," Lovino scoffed and hid part of his face with his hand. "Of course not. Just because I take these courses doesn't mean I'm good at them."

Antonio cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"I'm just an average student, okay," Lovino stated, his voice withdrawn, as if this was rehearsed. "I'm just about average in everything."

It was like a dart to Antonio's forehead, and he could only gawk at Lovino in confusion silently.

"What about you? What are you taking?" Lovino asked suddenly, very swift to progress the conversation.

Antonio's lashes fluttered, and he answered at once, "Oh, um—English, European history, environmental science, AP Spanish, and soccer P.E."

Lovino almost smiled. "Isn't it a bit like cheating to take Spanish when you're Spanish?"

Antonio blushed before he laughed. "Oh, yeah. I guess," he conceded and took a shy sip of his drink. "H-how did you know I was Spanish though?"

Lovino raised an eyebrow and stared at him levelly. "How could I _not_ figure that out?"

Antonio laughed again, and scratched his curly hair, messing it up further. "I didn't realize it was so obvious."

"Of course you didn't, _Antonio_," Lovino mumbled, and made sure to emphasize the accent in his name. He drummed his fingers on the cup.

Antonio laughed again, and his skin tingled somehow. "So, um, St. Mary's is an all-boy's school, right?"

"Yeah," Lovino said simply and raised an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I don't know," Antonio smiled awkwardly. "I was just asking." He held eye contact for a moment, and continued, "Do you like it?"

Lovino almost smiled; something flickered in his eyes. But he simply pursed his lips instead, and answered, "It's whatever. I don't really get along with other people in general. But since my grandfather works there, Feli and I get to go there for free, so I can't really complain."

"Really? Why don't you get along with them?" Antonio asked, very curious.

Lovino's lips pressed together, and his cheeks dusted red. "I…have a short temper. Sometimes."

"Oh?" Antonio grinned, and couldn't help but giggle. "That's kind of unexpected. You seem so calm."

As Antonio continued to laugh, Lovino leaned his face against his palm and tried to hide his flushed face. Quietly, he said, "Not really." His eyes reflected gold and caramel in the window. They seemed so warm, like they could melt the snow. "I feel like my mind never shuts up."

Antonio looked at him. He tried to memorize him. "What do you think about?"

"I don't know," Lovino replied, his lips delicate. "Sometimes it feels like everything, and others, just absolutely nothing."

Antonio's smile stayed. "How can you think about nothing?"

"The same way I think about something," Lovino said, his eyes bright with subtle amusement.

"That's so interesting," Antonio gushed, and he crept closer over the table. "All I do is think about soccer."

Lovino curled his fingers near his mouth. "That's probably why you're so good at it."

"Do you think so?" Antonio asked, slightly surprised, but more pleased. "I really want to play professionally one day."

Lovino's eyes watched him, silent and thoughtful. "You probably will. You're a lot like Feli. You both have a deep passion for things."

Antonio's heart fluttered with contentment; he felt so full with praise and happiness. He laughed shortly, before replying, "Yeah, well, what can I say? I love the sport."

"Yeah," Lovino said. He took a sip of his drink, before settling his gaze outside the window again. After a few moments, he began tracing his finger in patterns against the damp, cloudy window. He started a rose. "I was reading this book the other day, and it talked about the four temperaments theory."

Antonio stood up straight. "Oh? I don't think I've heard of it."

"Well, it's really old. And very basic," Lovino muttered, and ran his fingers through his hair as if suddenly embarrassed.

Antonio sensed his nerves, and gently encouraged him. "Why do you bring it up?"

"W-well," Lovino began again, and resumed drawing his rose. "I was reading it and I realized one of the personalities actually fits you to a tee." He dropped his finger, and twisted his hands together. "_Lively, sociable, carefree, talkative, warm-hearted and optimistic. They can make new friends easily, and often have many (stupid) ideas_…" Lovino gave Antonio a knowing look. "Does that sound pretty familiar?"

"I suppose it does," Antonio admitted, smiling broadly. "What's it called?"

"Sanguine."

Antonio laughed louder, and shook the table. "That sounds so bad though! It sounds like sangre in Spanish! Like I'm violent or bloody or something," he exclaimed.

Lovino, instead, seemed very exasperated. "I think it's supposed to be like you're full of life."

"Ah, I guess I can see that," Antonio admitted, a few chuckles still bubbling forth.

It was relatively silent again. The bell chimed, and a family walked in. The rain continued showering steadily outside, like a gentle hum. Lovino began another rose on the window.

Antonio watched Lovino draw with steady, slender fingers, and wondered. Why was there something so mysterious about Lovino?

"Which temperament are you?"

Lovino didn't stop drawing. His skin appeared to glow, his eyes appeared to glitter like shy stars after dusk. There was something gentle and lost to him that Antonio had never noticed when they were on the field.

"_Serious, introverted, cautious, or even suspicious. They are often susceptible to moodiness preoccupied with the tragedy and cruelty of the world._"

The rain fell harder. The roses disappeared in the new fog.

"Melancholic."

~/~

"Have you ever had these?"

Antonio shifted his gaze from the cookies to the fruit. "What?" he asked.

"The dark chocolate-covered orange peels," Lovino said simply, and pointed more clearly to the crescent-shaped chocolates.

"Oh," Antonio smiled and offered Lovino an apologetic expression. "I don't really like dark chocolate."

"What? Why not?" Lovino asked, his tone rising.

Antonio laughed weakly and shook his hair. "I don't know. It's kind of bitter, I guess. I like sweet things."

"I shouldn't be surprised," Lovino muttered, and continued limping down the glass case, staring at chocolates.

…

"Oh, Lovino! How about white-chocolate covered marshmallows!"

"Fuck no."

~/~

At six thirty, the both of them sat at a bench, each waiting for their taxi. The rain fled in exchange for a frosty chill, and Antonio shook his legs continuously, in vain hopes of warming up. Lovino was still and kept staring wistfully down the street.

"If you like, we could keep hanging out. I don't mean to cut us short," Antonio said, relieved that he didn't stammer at all.

Lovino took a deep breath. "It's fine. I wouldn't want you to be late for your curfew."

Antonio laughed, despite himself and returned to keeping a look out for the taxi. The street as calm and empty. One vehicle driving by every few minutes. It was so strange.

Right when Antonio was going to complain about winter again, the silence was broken by a question:

"Is it pity or guilt?"

Antonio blinked and turned his head. He looked at Lovino's smooth skin and dark lashes. "What?"

"Are you hanging out with me out of pity or guilt?" Lovino repeated simply, his tone distant.

No car would drive by and rev the motor. No couple would tap and splash through a puddle. It was a miserable quiet. It sat on Antonio's chest and crushed his breath.

"What are you talking about?" he finally asked. "I…" he bit his lip. "I like you, that's why I wanted to hang out with you."

"Is that so?" Lovino eyes lifted, and met Antonio's steadily. "It's not because you ended my career in soccer then?"

_What?_ "Of course not! I—I'm really sorry about that," Antonio paused and tried to relax his throat. Why did he feel as though he was going to cry when Lovino was just staring back passively? "I didn't mean to, I promise. But I would never pity you. It was an accident, a-and it's not as though I could think less of you for it. That would be just h—" Antonio didn't dare speak any more, and instead forced his gaze to the taxi cab rolling up. He blinked rapidly to dry any unshed tears, and quickly jumped to his feet to open the door of the taxi for Lovino.

Lovino took his time following suit, but after a few seconds he was on his feet, and he hobbled over to the cab door. Antonio's gaze was stuck on the pavement, but he felt Lovino's fingers tap his arm.

Antonio glanced up and fell into Lovino's shining eyes. How could they be so dark and bright at the same time?

Lovino's lips took care in shaping the words slowly, as his hand gripped Antonio's collar. "If you…_ever_…apologize to me again," he started, his breath warm near Antonio's chin. "I'm going to beat you so hard you won't be able to walk before next season."

His eyes remained constant, until they were the only thing Antonio knew; and then Lovino let go, and dove into the car.

Antonio saw the gray and black of the clouds before he remembered to turn around and watch the yellow cab. It drove away with turning back, and Antonio was alone on the street.

~/~

At lunch, Antonio sat with his friends. The meal they served was barely edible, but Antonio was busy watching the clouds. He was trying to predict the weather.

"Francis," Antonio said suddenly, and both of his friends looked to him. "Am I a bad person?"

"What?" Francis gawked, and was quick to burst into laughter. "Of course not! Why would you even ask that?"

_Because I ended Lovino's soccer career. I took away his scholarships. And I…I don't want to hang out because I feel guilty. I do feel guilty. Because it is my fault. But I also like him. What does that make me?_

"I just feel bad," Antonio sighed, and he resigned himself to resting his head in his arms. He pushed his cafeteria lunch aside. "I didn't mean to hurt Lovi."

"Who?" Gilbert asked.

"St. Mary's soccer player. The pretty little thing with the limp," Francis explained smoothly.

At the mention of pretty, Antonio's heart stuttered. What did that mean?

"Look, _mon cher,_ you must know it wasn't your fault. You both crashed into each other. It was an accident. Granted, it was a bad one. But it was nobody's fault! You don't need to worry so much," Francis said, and his warm fingers brushed Antonio's curls away from his face.

"I'm sure the kid will be fine. He didn't seem mad at you, did he?" Gilbert asked, and he started picking at Antonio's untouched chicken.

"No, he didn't," Antonio said in wonder. "He didn't seem mad at me at all." He was quiet for a moment and thought. Then all of a sudden, he sat up and stared Francis in the eye. "But isn't that sort of strange? Shouldn't he be mad at me?"

Francis shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, and replied, "Not necessarily. Perhaps he has a big heart."

"But—" Antonio struggled to explain this properly, "it's my fault. I basically ruined his life."

Francis half-smiled before cringing. "Ah, well, I wouldn't say _ruin_. That's a rather harsh word. Perhaps…_changed_ his life is more appropriate." He let Antonio sit on the words for a minute before continuing, "But these things happen to everyone. It'll all work out. He'll find something else to do."

Antonio gave a slight nod and shifted his gaze to the table. He stared at the stark white tables. Blank and empty like snow.

"You're not a bad person Toni," Francis assured him. "You're probably the most decent of the three of us if that counts for anything."

Gilbert chuckled, but Antonio stayed quiet.

"Gilbert, you tell him."

He was in the middle of stealing another morsel from Antonio's plate, but when he met Francis's eyes he sat back in his seat and sighed. "All right, well…Toni, if the kid's not mad at you, and the whole thing was an accident, there's nothing for you to feel guilty about. You're a nice person. I mean, Jesus, you're probably the nicest person we know. You'd talk to anyone."

"Yeah."

_Lovi isn't mad at me. Somehow, for some reason, he isn't. But it wasn't an accident. It's my fault. It's all my fault. But at the same time, I like Lovino. I think I always have. For two years, I've only ever seen him on the field, but I always looked at him. He was different than the rest. He played soccer differently too. There really was something…wistful about him. He was thinking, I could see it every time. That's what made him so difficult to play. But I loved it too. _

"Do you feel better now?" Francis asked, his tone light.

Antonio tilted his gaze towards Francis's kind blue eyes and forced a smile.

"I guess."

_I do feel guilty. But I also really like Lovino. _

_I think I might be a bad person after all. _

~/~

It was supposed to snow soon. Antonio checked the weather the night before and slightly panicked. He'd slacked off a bit this week from his usual regimen and he knew it would catch up with him soon. He had to make this day count before the snowfall would make it impossible to run.

So he woke up early, near six in the morning and stumbled to his dresser. He pulled on sweatpants, socks, more socks, a shirt, another shirt, and a sweatshirt. He layered his head with a beanie to keep his ears warm, and stuffed his feet into worn, running shoes.

His eyes were still soft with sleep, and he walked out of his room in a daze. The hallway was deathly quiet, but there were still sounds echoing from the bathroom. As Antonio passed it, the door opened and Gilbert stumbled out.

"Oh, hey man. What are you doing up so—" he glanced down at Antonio's outfit and nodded in understanding. "Ah, running. Of course. Shit, isn't it kind of early? Even for you?"

Antonio laughed lightly, his mind struggling to register the conversation. He was still so sleepy. "Yeah, it is. But it's going to snow soon, and I wanted to get as much done as I could."

Gilbert rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall. He was still in his flannel pants and baggy shirt. "Right. Whatever. You're just such a workaholic. I hope you still remember to eat and go to the health office."

"Yeah," Antonio blushed, and smiled bashfully. "I make it most of the time."

Gilbert groaned. "Well, try to make it all of the time."

"I'll try," Antonio smiled, and fished his phone out for the time. "Well, I guess I better get going—"

"Oh, wait a minute. I actually wanted to ask you," Gilbert called, and his eyes seemed more awake. "What are you doing for winter break?"

"Break?" Antonio repeated, a bit confused. Then it hit him and he snapped his fingers. "Oh, is that next week?"

"Duh. Of course it is. Haven't you heard half of our conversations at lunch?" Gilbert asked, his eyes tensing with worry.

Antonio realized the direction the conversation was going and he was quick to force another laugh. "Yeah, yeah! I remember. Um, well…" Antonio raced frantically through his memories, trying to remember the last conversation he had with his parents. "I think I'm flying home next Friday. Yeah."

"Really?" Gilbert asked, and Antonio confirmed with an enthusiastic nod. "Well, shit. I'm jealous. You're going to be soaking up that California sun…"

_And playing as much soccer as possible._

"Yeah, it'll be a nice change," Antonio chuckled, and he checked his phone again. "I think I need to go now, or else I'll be running late," he said as he started stepping away.

"Well, all right then. I'll talk to you more later," Gilbert replied easily, and began his way back towards his room. "Don't work too hard!"

Antonio peered over his shoulder and grinned. "Of course not!" He stuffed his headphones into his ears and hustled towards the stairs. "_Adiós_!"

~/~

It was a long run, and it didn't snow. During classes, Antonio watched the sky carefully for any signs. By his last class, the ground was still dry, and he went for another run.

~/~

The next morning he went to the gym to lift weights. He was on the elliptical when he realized he forgot to go to breakfast. He was there for two hours, but he didn't remember all of it.

~/~

_Ring!_

_Ring!_

_Ring!_

_Ri_—

"…"

"Um, hi, is this Lovino?" Antonio asked, suddenly worried.

Slowly, the familiar bass voice echoed through the phone. "It is." Antonio sighed in relief, and Lovino continued, "Why are you calling?"

"Oh, um," Antonio stared up at his bedroom ceiling. "I don't know."

Lovino scoffed. "Figures."

"Yeah, well. I've been wanting to talk to you again for a while, but I was afraid to," Antonio laughed softly, very embarrassed.

"You were afraid to?"

"You can be kind of intimidating," Antonio admitted, smiling.

"Oh," was all Lovino said in reply. Antonio waited for more, but nothing else came.

"It's not a bad thing," Antonio continued, and tried to stress his sincerity. "You're just a lot smarter than I am, and I can't tell what you're thinking, so I get nervous talking to you."

"You get nervous talking to _me_?" Lovino asked in disbelief. A few seconds passed and he added, "Is this because of what I said last time?"

"No! I mean—well, maybe that helped. But, I—"

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you," Lovino interrupted suddenly, his voice shy but strong. "I was just fed up with you acting so damn guilty around me and looking at me like you just killed my brother or something." Antonio was busy trying to catch up with the words, so Lovino continued, "B-because it's really not your fault, you know. Actually, I—I—"

"Lovino," Antonio interrupted suddenly, he spoke as fast as his heartbeat. "Do you want to meet up? Like before winter break starts."

Silence. One, two, three…

"…Why?" Lovino asked.

"Because I—I want to see you again. I don't know," Antonio laughed again, for no real reason.

It was quiet too long for Antonio's liking.

Then, Lovino replied, "All right."

Antonio's face brightened, and he said, "Really?"

"Sure," Lovino mumbled. There was some ambience noise like cups and silverware in the background.

"Where do you want to meet?"

"Um, you know that park?"

Antonio thought for a moment. "Oh, yeah! I don't know the name, but the one I ran into you at, right?"

"Yeah," Lovino agreed. "I can walk there and meet you tomorrow afternoon."

"Okay!" Antonio grinned and started dreaming already. "Wait—can you walk there with your—"

"I'll be fine. I'm not disabled or anything," Lovino interrupted quickly. "Besides, I need to do rehab anyway."

"Ah, right. That makes sense," Antonio said simply, and returned to smiling goofily at his ceiling. "So I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure."

"I can't wait!"

"…Whatever."

~/~

Antonio ran the next morning. He ran the same mountainous trail behind the equestrian club, and he ran hard and fast. He realized he was two minutes faster than his usual time when he got back. But he was too late for breakfast, and sprinted to class.

~/~

At lunch, Antonio gossiped to Gilbert and Francis of his "meeting" with Lovino. Francis teased him and called it a date, to which Antonio adamantly denied. Gilbert pointed out his blush, and Antonio tried to cover his face by pulling his hoodie further up.

When lunch was over, they got up to dispose of their plates. Antonio was in the middle of gushing about how smart Lovino was when he fell down.

He heard Gilbert and Francis call his name, and then nothing else.

~/~

Lovino sat on the bench, calm and quiet. He was hoping it would snow all day, and it hadn't; but by the look of the gray sky and the bite of the cold, it was probably going to soon.

His eyes lost focus in the sky and he wondered about Antonio. Antonio. The boy he'd admired for two years and said nothing to. It seemed so strange to think that they might be friends now. Impossible really.

But it pulled at his heart when he caught Antonio looking at him that way. Guilty. With pity. He didn't know whether it made him more sad or angry, but he didn't like it all the same. He hated it. He _hated_ it. Antonio shouldn't feel either towards him. Lovino didn't want that. After all, what happened wasn't Antonio's fault, it was—it was…Lovino's.

He just wanted Antonio to like him.

Some swallowtails flew by and Lovino stared after them. How long has he been sitting here? Reluctantly, he pulled his arm from his warm jacket pocket and checked his wristwatch for the time: four forty-five.

It was getting late. School ended for the both of them at three, and Lovino's been here since three thirty.

_Ring!_

Lovino jumped, and his heart began to race. He quickly retrieved his phone from his other pocket and unlocked the screen.

"H-hello?" he stuttered, more nervous than cold.

"Oh,_ bonsoir_! This is Francis. I'm a friend of Toni's."

Lovino's lashes fluttered and he squinted in confusion. "Why are you calling me from Antonio's phone?"

"Well, he told me you don't pick up for any random number, so this seemed like the best way to reach you in a timely fashion."

"…Yeah?" Lovino replied curtly. He was too confused to be polite.

"Right," Francis paused and cleared his throat. "Anyway, I thought I should let you know that Antonio won't be coming to your little rendezvous."

"Huh? How do you know about that?" Lovino asked, his cheeks flushing red in embarrassment and surprise.

"Oh, please. It's all he talked about this morning," Francis said easily, as if it were obvious.

Lovino's skin buzzed from the comment, but he still didn't understand. "So why isn't he coming?"

"He's a bit…occupied at the moment. He can't leave."

"That's not an answer."

"Yes, it is," Francis insisted, his tone casual.

"No," Lovino stated. "It isn't."

"Well, I'm sorry. But that's all the information I can give you. He can't come today."

"Why the hell aren't you giving me a straight answer?"

"Call it _familial confidentiality_."

"You're not brothers."

"We're close enough to be."

Lovino breathed heavy and slow, and he stared only at the clouds. His heart raced and his throat clenched. He wanted to scream and cry. "Damn it! Why can't you tell me what the hell is going on? Did he break a leg? Is he on a fucking date? Is he in detention? What is it?"

"So sorry, but I cannot say. It would be rude to pass out secrets where they're not allowed."

"Why the hell do you get to know and I don't?" Lovino yelled, and he wiped a tear away before it could fall.

Francis was quiet for a moment, and Lovino briefly wondered if he had gotten to him somehow. Then he said, "Well, no offense Lovino, but I'm one of his oldest friends. I've known him since he was five years old. And you only talked to him only…what? Three weeks ago?"

Lovino's eyes stung, and his vision blurred together behind the veil of unshed tears. "S-so?"

Francis sighed, and he suddenly sounded very tired. "I'm sorry, Lovino. But Antonio really doesn't want to tell you. I can't go behind his back. But he wanted me to let you know he's very sorry and hopes you have a good winter break."

Lovino inhaled sharply, and now tears fell, but he covered his mouth before he could sob. Why did he feel so ridiculous all of a sudden? Because he was. He was stupid. So, so stupid. Everything he did was just—just…stupid.

"I-is he okay at least?" Lovino asked, and tried his best to hide his shame.

Francis sighed again. "Yes, he's fine…relatively speaking. You don't need to worry, Lovino. It's really nothing serious. I'm sorry I can't tell you more, but—he's okay. I promise. Just have a nice winter break."

"O-kay."

"_Au revoir_," Francis said, and he hung up.

Lovino kept staring and whispered "_ciao_" to the dead phone.

He kept sitting for a while — who knows how long — and he replayed every stupid thing he did and hated himself more for it. He was an idiot for even dreaming what he dreamed. It was all so ridiculous. Foolish. Stupid. Just stupid.

Then snow fell.

It landed in Lovino's hair, on his nose, on his eyelashes. It cooled his blood, it stopped his heart and froze his gaze.

He still had his phone in his hand and he looked at it. With numb fingers he began to type a message, and without over-analyzing, he sent it.

**_Have a nice winter break. Don't apologize for not coming. _****_—_****_LV_**

* * *

><p>~~

* * *

><p><em>Those of you who read my multi-chapter <span><strong>T<strong>**esoro Mio**, rest assured, the next chapter is on its way! I was just too overwhelmed with life to complete it on time, but expect it soon all right? :)_

_Thank you for reading this strange little fic! I really wanted to try a different sort of Spamano that was...quieter and gentler...so it means so much that you took a chance on it. I hope you can endure it for one more chapter. It will be up very, very soon._

_Thanks again everyone! Please review! :)_


	2. January

_January_

* * *

><p>"Ve~ Lovi, are you sure you can carry that? Do you want me to help?"<p>

"Damn it! I'm fine, Feli. Really. Just handle you own suitcases," Lovino muttered, and scowled his way up the stairs to the second floor dorms.

"Okay, if you're sure!" Feli called after him, and Lovino just rolled his eyes in silent reply.

In truth, Lovino wanted the help. He wanted it terribly, because his knee hurt. It hurt all the time. Walking, sitting, standing, just anything at all. But he was sick and tired of his family babying him, and people pitying him; so he did everything he could to speed up his recovery. He may not be able to play competitive sports any longer, or at least, not to the best of his ability, but there was no reason he couldn't lug his heavy suitcase up a flight of stairs.

Eventually, somehow, he reached the top, and he was compelled to lean against the wall to catch his breath. His lungs burned and his legs ached. Lovino hated being so weak.

After he could breathe without wheezing, Lovino started walking, and he rolled his suitcase into his old room. Rectangular, bright, and small—the same as ever.

Lovino fell onto his cold bed and sighed.

_Same as ever._

~/~

He thought about Antonio rather often. He thought about Antonio quite often before the incident too, but now it was different, and if possible, even more frequent.

Freshman year of soccer was the first time Lovino saw him. He was hard to miss really: tall, muscular but slender, tan, with wild, curly hair, green eyes, and a reckless smile. Lovino watched him on the field and thought he was serious and unreachable; but when he glanced at him during break, he was different: happy. Antonio was such a mystery. So dual-natured, Lovino didn't know what to think.

But he was still incredibly talented, and obviously passionate, and everything Lovino wanted to be. It was impossible not to admire him. That's what Lovino thought all of this was. Admiration. Young and innocent admiration.

But sophomore year, it felt different. When they brushed each other, there was something electric. It made Lovino's breath catch and his eyes stare. He wanted defeat Antonio every chance he got, but he also wanted to let him win. He stopped caring for the game years ago, and he thought he was playing because it was something to do…But more and more, it felt as though he was really playing so he could see Antonio again. The mysterious center midfielder that seemed to be everywhere at once; with eyes as fresh and green as the field.

And by junior year, Lovino knew.

His heart jumped every time they were near. He smiled when Antonio scored a goal, and was breathless when Antonio laughed.

He fell in love with Antonio before they'd even talked to each other.

He was stupid. So stupid. So incredibly, hopelessly stupid.

~/~

Not one week into school, and Lovino returned to the bookstore again. His favorite bookstore.

He stowed away in the safety of the fiction novels and read. He read everything and anything at all. He just wanted to escape for as long as he could the reality of things. There was nothing special about the real world. There was nothing special about him. He couldn't use magic, and he didn't live in a fantasy world; he wasn't a prince, or a pirate, or head of the mafia; he didn't even have a talent to speak of. Lovino was just a boy. And he hated it.

Antonio belonged to that world. And so did Feli. Why couldn't Lovino be like them? Why did he have to keep screwing up? Why couldn't he just focus?

He was just beginning _The Master and Margarita_, but something caught his attention from the corner of his eye.

His face lifted up suddenly, because he thought he saw…

But Lovino looked around, and no one was there.

The bell chime echoed from downstairs, and there was the low hum of conversation.

Lovino bit his lip and returned to his book.

~/~

The next day, around the same time in the afternoon, Lovino returned. However, this time, he settled in the cafe lobby, with his pen and journal out, trying his hand at poetry again. He rarely wrote—everything he seemed to put down on paper seemed to pale in comparison to his favorite stories. Of course, Lovino wrote in his head all the time. He was always thinking of similes to describe the clouds, and rhymes to describe the snow; he had hundreds of metaphors for Antonio's smile. But he rarely tried his hand at writing. Today was unusual.

But, Lovino made sure to claim a table at the furthest niche in the cafe. He ordered a hot chocolate and left it untouched at the corner of his table. He forgot about it as soon as he set to work.

After minutes passed, Lovino set his pen down and glanced over the words; but it was a mistake to do so, and he instantly clawed at his hair in grief. God, how could he write something so stupid? Why did he even bother writing at all? Damn it. And why, of all things, did he have to write about fucking—

"Hi Lovi."

Lovino unclenched his teeth, and slowly straightened his back. His eyes met the ones he had memorized years ago. Antonio stood in front of him distinctly tan, and sun-kissed, smiling radiantly, and looking at Lovino as if they hadn't seen each other in months. For Lovino it didn't feel longer than a day.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" Antonio asked, and his voice seemed less chipper now. Lovino caught him wringing his wrists nervously.

"Sure," Lovino muttered. He didn't know what else to say.

Antonio brightened and quickly sat down in the chair opposite to him. Lovino's brain caught up, and he remember to slam shut his journal, and swiftly knocked it into his lap.

It was quiet between them. Lovino felt too shocked to say anything.

Eventually, Antonio took the initiative. "How was your break?"

_Break? What break?_ Oh—"Um, it was fine. Nothing interesting," Lovino replied, and he tried to keep his voice cool. "I read a few books."

"Oh? Any good ones?" Antonio inquired, and leaned forward in interest.

Lovino reciprocated by leaning away. "Not really."

Antonio's shoulder slumped, but he kept his smile. "Oh."

Lovino watched him carefully. Antonio seemed off. "How was your break?"

Antonio's grin broadened, and his eyes traveled somewhere behind Lovino's head as he recalled the memory. "It was wonderful. I was able to play so much soccer. I went to a camp for two weeks."

Lovino's heart clench, but he didn't know if it was in happiness, jealousy, or something else. "That's nice."

"It really was," Antonio agreed gleefully.

Lovino stared at him. Yes, there was definitely something different. But he seemed okay.

"Um, Lovino," Antonio began, and his eyes strayed to the side awkwardly. "A-about what happened…before break. I didn't mean to—I really wanted to—"

"It's fine," Lovino interrupted suddenly. He caught Antonio's pained, guilty, expression and added, "Let's just stop talking about it."

"D-don't you want to know why?" Antonio asked, his voice light and scared.

Lovino thought for a moment. "Not really," he lied. "I don't care at all."

Antonio's eyes watched him warily, the green sparkled emerald.

Lovino thumbed his journal and his eyes stung. His heart hurt.

"I hope it snows soon," he said. And that was the end of their conversation.

~/~

Lovino liked landscapes. He drew them often. He had no patience for paint and brushes, and couldn't be bothered to spend more than an hour trying. He preferred the smoothness and efficiency of pens, the sureness of pencil—it was the only way to get across his thoughts as quick as they came.

"Lovino."

He looked up, and at once shielded his drawing with his arm. Miss Braginskaya looked at him fondly with a soft smile.

"What do you have there?" she asked, and tentatively reached for it.

Lovino thought about swiping it away and not showing it to her, but some part of him resigned, and he let her grasp it. He played with his pen as he waited for her to give her opinion.

"Oh, wow, Lovino," she said, and her hand rested on his shoulder. "This is really good! It's amazing that both you and your brother are such talented artists."

Lovino blushed and wished he could hide away. "I'm not as good as him, really."

Miss Braginskaya rested the paper down on the table. "That's not true. Art shouldn't be measured as better or worse anyway. Your style is simply different. But it's just as wonderful."

"Th-thank you," he muttered and shoved the drawing back in the sketchbook.

The teacher looked at him, and added, "Have you thought about pursuing a career in art?"

"What?" he asked, suddenly caught of guard. His eyes darted to hers to check for any signs of a joke. None of it was there. "I couldn't do that. I'm not—I'm not as…serious about it as Feli. I don't have the skill."

"That doesn't matter," she laughed and patted his shoulder. "Art isn't a serious thing anyway."

Lovino pressed his lips together and stayed silent as his cheeks warmed a brighter red. "I…I don't know if I could," he mumbled, and stared at his pen. "I don't know what I want to do really."

"Well," she said. "You don't need to worry. You're still young. I just thought I should mention that if you were interested in pursuing art, you definitely could."

He curled his fingers near his mouth and kept his disbelief to himself. "Thanks."

"No problem," she smiled and gave him one last pat before strolling away.

When he was alone again, Lovino fished out his landscape. He traced his fingers gingerly over the lines of the trees, the leaves and the ground. Drawing was a release. It helped him think. But could he really be like Feli? Could he only do art and become a professional?

Lovino frowned and shook his head.

He doesn't have enough passion for that.

~/~

"Lovi."

"Hm."

Feli didn't reply right away, and Lovino rolled his eyes. It was probably going to be a stupid question. He kept reading his book.

"Have you talked to Toni recently?"

Yep, stupid.

"Last Thursday," he said automatically, and turned the page.

"No. I mean, have you talked to him since then?" Feli asked again, and he settled in Lovino's desk chair.

"No," Lovino muttered, and he briefly glanced in Feli's direction.

"Why not?" Feli pressed, his voice rising slightly. "I thought you two liked each other. Is it just because of what happened a few weeks ago?"

"It's probably because of what happened a few months ago," Lovino snapped, and his eyes flashed violently.

Feli jumped, and settled back in the chair, frowning. "It was an accident," he mumbled.

Lovino stared hard at the page, but he couldn't read the words. "No, it wasn't."

They sat there quietly. The sound of the orchestra's practice echoed through the crack in the window. Lovino always left it open for the chill.

"Maybe you should tell him that," Feli suggested gently.

Lovino bit his lip, and closed his eyes. "What would he think?"

_That I'm stupid. Ridiculous. Childish. An idiot. Stupid._

Feli looked at him solemnly. "You won't know until you tell him."

_What were they playing? It seemed so happy._

"I guess."

~/~

_Ring!_

_Ring!_

_Ring!_

Lovino stared at the screen. It was Antonio's number.

_Ring!_

_Ring!_

_Rin-_

The screen went black. Lovino looked away.

~/~

_Ring!_

_Ring!_

"Hello?"

Lovino took a deep breath and said, "Hi, bastard."

"Oh, Lovi! You called me back. I was worried you wouldn't," he laughed, and Lovino couldn't help but roll his eyes fondly. It was reassuring to hear his voice again.

"Yeah…" Lovino mumbled and he folded the corner of his Chemistry homework. "I…I was wondering if you wanted to meet up—sometime."

Antonio breathed once before exclaiming, "Really? You'd want to? That was why I called earlier, actually! I'd love it if we could! When would be a good time for you?"

Lovino thought for a moment, and tilted his gaze to the window. "Um, I guess tomorrow would be fine."

"Tomorrow? Yeah, that'd work for me!" Antonio exclaimed, and his voice grew more sure on each word.

"Okay," Lovino mumbled, and he kept close to the leak of frozen air near the window. "How about…we go to the pizza place on East Main Street. At six."

Antonio was silent for a few seconds. Then happily, he replied, "Sure! That sounds wonderful!"

Lovino exhaled, and butterflies filled his stomach. "Really?"

"Of course!" Antonio said, and his voice was clear and joyful. The sweetest sound. "I can't wait."

"Yeah," Lovino coughed, and brought his knees to his chest. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Okay! Have a good night Lovi."

"Thank you."

…

"You too."

~/~

Lovino had his outfit picked out early in the morning. He didn't wear it to classes, for fear that some moron would spill paint or ink on his shirt, so he wore something less valuable and decided to come back to the room and change before he went into town.

So, at exactly three o' clock, when his art class ended, Lovino dashed out of the room; he went as fast as he could, before Miss Braginskaya might hold him back for another conversation. He needed to shower, change, and double-check everything; and knowing him, that would take a while.

The water was freezing, but that was no surprise. Lovino never minded so much. Just the sound of water soothed him. It was white noise that made him calm, and helped his mind relax. He needed to stop thinking. If he was going to tell Antonio, he needed to stop overthinking; or else surely, he would never do it.

He dried himself and hobbled as fast as he could back to his room. He dressed himself in a pressed dress shirt, a wine-red sweater, and finally, his faux-fur lined parka. He felt overheated, but he knew it'd be right for the sort of weather outside.

"Lovi!~ What are you…oh!" Feli called, and walked into the room without knocking.

Lovino glared at him, but didn't say anything and just busied himself with wrapping his scarf.

"Are you getting ready for your date with Toni?" Feli teased, and he jumped on Lovino's bed.

"It's not a date, it's a—dinner," Lovino muttered weakly, and he turned his blushing face away when Feli giggled.

"Ve~ sure, of course! Whatever you say," Feliciano laughed, and grabbed a pillow to rest in his lap.

Lovino shook his head and paced in front of the mirror. He examined himself from all sides, checking to make sure the outfit was suitable. Did he look okay? Did he look stupid? His mind began to snowball various doubts, and all of a sudden his lips pressed together in silent stress. What was he thinking, going out tonight?

"Lovi," Feli said.

Lovino hummed in response and stared worriedly in the mirror.

"You look really nice," Feli finished.

Lovino tilted his gaze to him, and Feli smiled.

"Thanks."

~/~

Lovino arrived in town early. He didn't mind. It allowed him time to visit the bookstore; he knew of a book that was just released, and he was eager to buy a copy.

The door chime that rung when he swung the door open was comforting, and he walked into the lobby like he was arriving home. The air was warm and flavorful, the noise was low and soothing, and he could only let himself believe that this was happiness. Perhaps tonight would go well. Perhaps everything wou—

_Ring!_

Lovino jumped, and he almost dropped the book he was holding. Everyone had turned to him. His face flushed and he tried to recall where he left his phone

_Ring!_

This time Lovino reached for his coat pocket and fished out his phone. He unlocked it and pressed it to his ear.

"H-hello?" he asked, his voice in a low whisper.

"Oh, hi Lovi! This is Antonio!"

Lovino's lashes fluttered and he held the book to his chest. For some reason he felt the need to look around. "Hi…um, why are you calling?"

"Ah, well," Antonio breathed, and he sounded very winded. "I wanted to let you know that I might be a little late."

Lovino's heart stuttered. "Oh."

"I'm so—" he stopped, and caught himself. "I just miscalculated the time. I need to do something."

"I see," Lovino said coolly.

"Lovino, I'm really—" Antonio groaned. He was trying really hard to obey Lovino's rule. "I just need to run before the snow falls."

Lovino breathed, his heart kept beating, and he closed his eyes. "How late will you be?"

"I'll be there as fast as I can," Antonio assured him confidently.

"That's not an answer," Lovino sighed.

"Oh, I…" his voice drifted away. "Seven thirty or eight, maybe?"

Lovino raised an eyebrow and asked, "What about your curfew?"

Antonio chuckled loud and roughly. "Don't worry about that! I don't have one today."

"Is that so," Lovino replied skeptically. He was afraid to raise his hopes again.

"I promise!" Antonio exclaimed, and he let the statement rest for a minute. "How about I meet you at the bookstore and we can walk to the pizza place from there?"

Lovino bit his lip and considered._ God, Antonio really was an idiot. Going for a run now? Just because it might snow tomorrow? God damn, Lovino. Why'd you have to fall for such an idiot like—_

"Fine."

"R-really?"

"Yeah. Whatever. Hurry up, bastard. I'm waiting," Lovino muttered, and he turned on his heel towards the register to pay.

"Okay! I'll see you soon."

"You better."

~/~

He felt as though he was waiting for hours. Days. Lovino wasn't even sure what he was waiting for, or why he was waiting. Perhaps, Antonio would eventually show up, but what then? What was he hoping for?

Lovino crossed his legs in the chair and stared out the window. It was so dark. And the light from the streetlamps was clouded by the fog. It wasn't raining or snowing yet, but it felt as though it might at any minute.

When he thought about it…Lovino wanted to talk to him. He wanted to be near Antonio. He's always wanted that. To be near him for longer than thirty seconds on the soccer field, to touch him when they weren't battling for control of the ball, to take his time learning the green of his eyes and the lightness to his voice. But time was something neither of them seemed to have. And if Lovino decided to tell Antonio the truth, what would he think of him then? That he was stupid. Childish.

The bell chimed and Lovino's head shot up.

But it was just an elderly couple, and he turned away, his cheek warming in ashamed disappointment. Really—what was he hoping for? That Antonio would come running in, a bouquet of flowers in hand and they'd go dancing in the rain—er—snow, maybe.

Lovino grabbed his head and clawed at his scalp. He really was so stupid. What was he doing with his life? His journal was a jumble of trees, random words and silhouettes of people under the moonlight. His mind was a mess.

"Hey Lovi."

Lovino's eyes darted up again, and his hands dropped away from his head and onto the table.

Antonio stood in front of him panting, damp, red-cheeked, wild-haired, and still in layered running gear. But it was Antonio. He came.

"You're late," Lovino muttered, and he turned away when Antonio laughed.

"I am," he chuckled, and slid into the chair across. "But I ran here as fast as I could."

"You ran here?" Lovino exclaimed, and he glared purposefully at him. "Why the hell'd you do that?"

Antonio shrugged his shoulders helplessly and laughed again. "Well, I was already running, and I was pretty close. I figured I may as well run here," he explained, as if it were simple. "I was also kind of worried I'd make you mad if I was late, so I took the detour that led downtown."

Lovino pursed his lips and intertwined his fingers together. "I wouldn't have cared if you were late." Lovino flicked his eyes up and caught Antonio giving him a shy smile.

"Maybe," he said, and his eyes caught Lovino's journal. "Oh, what's this?" He tried to reach out for it, but at once, Lovino grasped it and knocked it into his lap. "Hey—"

"It's nothing," Lovino interrupted swiftly, and kept the book close to his chest.

Antonio looked at him curiously and stared at the book. "Is it a sketchbook?"

Lovino pressed his lips together and mumbled, "More like a journal."

"Oh," Antonio said, and his lips turned up in another smile. "It looked really cool. It looked like you had words in the drawing."

"I did," Lovino mumbled, and he glanced at the journal self-consciously.

"I like it," Antonio added, and he leaned closer to the table.

Lovino felt a chill run up his spine. He didn't know if it was because of how Antonio was as cold as a snowflake, or because he was so damn close.

"Thanks," he replied quietly, and looked down at his lap.

It was silent again, and Lovino only heard Antonio blowing on his knuckles and shuffling his hands together.

"Are you hungry?" he asked suddenly, and Lovino looked up.

"I guess," Lovino said, and he began tucking his pen and journal away in his backpack anyway.

Antonio stood up and continued blowing on his hands.

As Lovino was busy with zipping up the backpack he felt the sudden urge to confess overwhelm him.

"Antonio," he blurted, and closed his eyes in dread.

"Yes?"

"I—I…you know, our…collision? In October?" Lovino began awkwardly.

Antonio kept quiet, and Lovino could sense his confusion. "Sure, what about it?"

This was the hard part. "W-well, a-about that. I—I've been afraid to tell you this, b-but i-it wasn't your fault…that I got _hurt_," Lovino stuttered. He held his breath and continued, "A-actually, it was me, I—"

He stopped suddenly where he heard someone fall to the floor.

Lovino whipped around and looked right and left and every other direction of Antonio and didn't see him. And just as he opened his mouth, ready to call out his name, he noticed the noise: the knocking on hardwood floors, joined by the obnoxious chatter of conversation. Somehow, his eyes trailed to the floor and he found Antonio. It was like stepping into a dream. It looked real…somehow. But it didn't really _feel _real. And more specifically, it didn't feel as though it could be real. Because there's no possible way the real Antonio would be on the floor, shaking and convulsing like he was having a…

Seizure?

"Antonio?" Lovino asked quietly, and he dropped to his knees. He noticed some people were gathering around him, and they were saying so many things at once. But Lovino just stared at Antonio, too scared to touch him, and silently pleading that he'd stop. "Damn it," he muttered, and his trembling hands grasped Antonio's shuddering arms. Lovino tried to hold him still on the floor, but he didn't know if that was the right thing to do. "A-antonio, damn it. J-just stop! Why won't you…?"

"Hey, should I call an ambulance?"

Something caught fire inside of Lovino, and at once he turned around and yelled, "Why the fuck haven't you called one already? Does he look like he's all right to you?" Lovino turned back and didn't bother hearing the reply. He kept staring at Antonio and grasping at his face, desperately wishing that Antonio would just stop shaking. Just stop. Stop.

_Stop._

This just wasn't supposed to happen.

~/~

_There he was. Antonio Carriedo, number one, center midfielder. I knew he'd be here soon. _

_He looks kind of funny today. Is his hair shorter? God, he must have gotten a cheap haircut. What an idiot._

_Feli's in position. So is Matthew. The white-haired freak is nowhere to be found. It looks like everything is going to plan. _

_I dribble the ball past one defender, and I settle somewhere else. Feli, hurry up. I can't hold the ball forever._

_I know Antonio's coming without even looking, but I do look because it's the only chance I get to see him._

_He's on his way._

_Should I let him get the ball, or no?_

_The game is tied right now, but we're not at halftime yet. I could let him have this goal. It'd be okay. He deserves it, he… _

_He doesn't even know who I am._

_Momentarily, my cleat slips from the ball, and I almost lose it. One, two steps, and I have it again. I make a few paces and I'm by myself. I see Antonio coming._

_His eyes are green. It's the only green I know. _

_I wonder what his voice is like? I can't tell if he'd be stupid or smart. He's a damn good soccer player, but what does that mean?_

_I wonder if he'd talk to me if we went to the same school._

_I… _

_I want to talk to him. _

_Feli waves to me. He wants me to pass the ball to him. Even Matthew makes a motion. But Antonio's closing in. He's almost here. _

_I have three options. What should I do?_

~/~

"Sir?"

Lovino's head snapped up and he focused on the person_—_the nurse_—_in front of him.

"Y-yeah?" he replied, and his voice sounded sleepier than him. He must have dozed off.

She smiled softly, and gestured to the door behind her. "You can go in now if you like. He's ready to see you."

His heartbeat picked up, and he stumbled to his feet. "Really? Is_—_is he okay?" Lovino was almost afraid to ask.

But the nurse giggled and patted Lovino's shoulder. "Of course he is, silly! He's perfectly fine. Go ahead and see him! I'm sure he's lonely."

"Oh," Lovino breathed, and he suddenly felt stunned with nerves. The minutes and hours of waiting impatiently seemed to fast now. He was nervous.

"Go on! Go ahead!" she urged, and she even pushed him gently in the direction.

Lovino stumbled forward, and now his cheeks flushed red. This was too embarrassing. What was he doing?

His fingers held the cold doorknob and the thought occurred to him. Then again, this must be twice as embarrassing for Antonio.

He took a breath and swallowed his fear, and took the chance at opening the door.

It was just as blank and white on the inside.

Lovino's eyes travelled around, very curious. He hadn't been in a hospital since his surgery, and it was a strange feeling to be back. He looked at the window, shut, but with the curtains drawn, and a clear view of the night sky_—_a hint of the crescent moon peeking from behind the clouds.

Then his eyes moved to the left. He knew someone was watching him.

Antonio was lying in the bed, the covers half drawn up, but his pale hospital gown apparent all the same. He was paler, like the room drained him of his tan and flush, and he had an IV laced to his wrist. Lovino couldn't help but stare at it in shock for a moment. But he remembered to look away, and he found Antonio's smile. It was smaller, but it was also the same. And his eyes sparkled a soft, delicate green. He might've been just as nervous as Lovino, but it was barely noticeable.

"Hi Lovi," he said, and Lovino breathed. Why was the sound so reassuring?

"Hi," Lovino replied, and he sounded very unsure. He hadn't meant to.

Antonio's eyes gestured to the chair beside him, and Lovino blushed a darker red and quickly walked over. Why did he stand there like an idiot for so long?

In one smooth motion, he slid into the chair, and he winced at the creek. It made the sterile silence all the more grating.

Lovino spent a few moments readjusting himself, and deciding how to space his legs and arms. When he looked up, Antonio was still watching him.

"Um, how are you?" he asked, and Lovino gaped.

"What?" Lovino deadpanned, and his fingers gripped his jeans. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Antonio's eyes widened. "O-oh, I-I'm sorry. I was just_—_"

"And for god's sake, will you please stop apologizing? Dammit!" Lovino yelled, and he slumped over in his chair to rest his elbows on his knees. He held his head in frustration. "Two seconds and you're already acting like a goddamn idiot."

"I_—_I'm…" Antonio began helplessly, he sounded at a loss. "I didn't mean to."

"I know!" Lovino shouted, this time louder. He knew he shouldn't have. "I know," he repeated. "Damn it, I'm just…annoyed. I have a short temper."

"I guess I finally get to see it," Antonio said, and his voice sounded slightly teasing.

Lovino glanced up at Antonio's smile and his blood boiled again. "Why the fuck did you have a seizure?"

The question seemed to catch Antonio off guard. He must've expected it but perhaps Lovino had been too blunt.

After a few false tries, Antonio chuckled and he raked his fingers through his curls. "I have epilepsy. That's why."

_Damn._

"What?"

"I have epilepsy. It's a neurological disorder," Antonio explained.

"I know what it is," Lovino snapped harshly, and he couldn't stop glaring. "Why did you never tell me?"

Antonio laughed again and he shrugged his shoulders. "I guess it never came up before."

"Bullshit. You could've brought it up. Why did you never tell me," Lovino demanded, and his voice was as harsh as a whip. He didn't realize how absolutely furious he was until now.

Antonio's smile faded and he tilted his gaze away from Lovino, at his hands.

Lovino wanted to keep yelling, but he thought he could sense Antonio rehearsing his speech, and he kept silent.

Slowly, Antonio began to say the words, "I was afraid…that you might be mad at me if I told you."

Lovino scrunched his eyebrows together and frowned. "Mad? What the hell? I'm the one who can barely walk. Why the hell would I…?" he stopped when he noticed Antonio closing his eyes.

He exhaled and his hands gripped the sheets. "You'd be mad because it's my fault that you can barely walk."

Lovino stared blankly.

"I…was having a seizure when I crashed into you."

"You weren't shaking," Lovino said simply.

Antonio's lips turned up. "It was an absence seizure. I lose consciousness for a while, but I don't shake, and I don't close my eyes. It's like I'm zoning out," he explained slowly, and the bitter smile remained. "That's why I couldn't move out of the way during the game."

"So…" Lovino began as he tried to recall the memory. "That strange expression you had_—_you weren't really there?"

Antonio licked his lips and chose his words carefully. "No…I don't remember what happened at all." He sighed, and his fingers let go of the sheets. Then he faced Lovino again. "Look_—_I know you don't want me to apologize, but Lovino…It really was_—_"

"Shut up," Lovino interrupted, and his cheeks were warm, his eyes were shining. He really had no choice but to say it now. Especially after Antonio confessed what he did. "It doesn't even matter. It's still not your fault."

Antonio squinted and tilted his head slightly. "What do you mean?"

Lovino stared down at his hands and picked at the skin near his fingernail. "When you were coming towards me, I could've moved out of the way. I had time to. I could've."

Antonio waited, but the silence dragged on. "Then…why didn't you?" he pressed.

"Because I_—_" Lovino stopped and he buried his face in his hands. "Damn it_—_it's so stupid! You're going to think I'm so stupid!"

"What do you mean?" Antonio asked, and he wanted to reach out and comfort him, but the IV kept him chained still.

"I…" Lovino began again, and he wiped away a tear before Antonio could see it. He kept his face hidden behind his palms. "I let you hit me, b-because I thought that maybe_—_I thought_—_because I wanted you to talk to me, all right?!" he shouted, and his voice cracked near the end. But he felt as though he should explain himself. "I-I was tired of just watching you and you not knowing me, and I just wanted an excuse to talk to you_—just once—_so I _let_ you fall into me!" he heaved a few heavy breaths and added, "I was just too stupid to calculate the fall, and I landed badly. It was all my fault though. I let you hit me. It was _me_."

Antonio stared at him, his green eyes flat.

Lovino stared back, and his eyes sparkled red and yellow and brown. His throat was tight.

Antonio's eyebrows slowly knit together and he opened his mouth to say something.

But Lovino interrupted.

"Don't you dare! Let me save you the trouble of asking that idiotic question and say it to you straight you soccer-obsessed moron_—_I like you. That's why I did it, dammit! I…I actually have a c-crush on you," he finished lamely, and his face felt as though it were on fire.

Antonio stared dumbly for a few moments longer, and slowly, almost in millimeters, his lips slowly spread, until finally he was smiling.

"I didn't know that!" he exclaimed happily.

Lovino tossed his head back and yelled, "Well, no shit!"

"But Lovino, this is perfect, because I like you too!" Antonio continued, and his glow slowly returned.

Lovino's heart jumped, but he kept himself still. "You know I'm not talking about being friends, right?"

Antonio laughed easily, and it sounded real. "I'm not that stupid, Lovi," he said, and Lovino fought the urge to correct him. "I've also had a crush on you for a while. I just_—_I was too scared to approach you," he confessed shyly. "You're just so intimidating."

"I am not_—_"

"Yes," Antonio smiled. "You are."

Lovino glared at him, but his eyes grew too shy to keep eye contact and he darted his gaze to the floor. He folded his arms across himself protectively.

"Did you really not tell me about your epilepsy because you thought I'd be mad at you?" Lovino demanded, still suspicious.

Antonio grimaced and ran his hand over his face. "Well…yeah. Mostly. But I also," he said, and bit his lip. "I guess I also didn't want you to have an excuse to look down on me. I didn't want you to," he laughed shortly. "I guess I didn't want you to pity me."

"What a coincidence," Lovino muttered sarcastically, and Antonio just laughed again.

"I suppose so," Antonio grinned.

Lovino pouted and turned his head away stubbornly. "God, I'm such an idiot," he muttered.

"Why?" Antonio asked.

"Why do you think? I let you fuck up my leg just so I could talk to you. Isn't that pretty stupid, even for your standards?" Lovino snapped viciously, his embarrassment seeping through.

Antonio just smiled bigger, and his eyes glittered. "I think it's cute."

"Tsk," Lovino scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You would."

Antonio chuckled, and his skin finally warmed with rosy color.

Lovino was secretly thankful, but he didn't say anything more. His eyes drifted to the window.

"It's finally snowing," he said and it was as if a wave of calm blanketed him. His temper cooled.

"It seems like it," Antonio responded, and his tone was wistful.

Lovino watched the snow, and wished he could feel it on his skin.

"Lovino," Antonio called his attention. "Come here." He stretched his arms out in invitation.

Suddenly, Lovino's blush was back, and he felt sweat prick his palms. "What the hell?" he shouted.

"Come here, Lovi," Antonio cooed, and Lovino looked at him a bit horrified. "Please?"

Lovino held his arm worriedly, and groaned. Then, by some force of nature, he was on his feet, and he limped to Antonio's side, and carefully sat down on an empty part of the bed beside him. He looked away, though he knew Antonio was smiling right at him.

Lovino felt Antonio's warm hand cover his and he flinched. When he turned his gaze to face him, he knew it was hard.

But Antonio didn't mind. "Lovi, you're so passionate," he said.

Lovino drew his eyebrows together. "No, I'm not."

Antonio's lip quirked and he pulled Lovino closer by his hand. "It's so funny that you haven't noticed. You're just as passionate as me you know."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lovino mumbled, and he tried to inch out of Antonio's grasp to no avail. They were very close. As close as they'd been on the soccer field. But they were taking their time now.

"Lovi, isn't it obvious that you're passionate about so many things? That's your problem, and your gift. I mean," Antonio sighed dramatically. "You play soccer, you read, you draw, you write…What part of that would make you believe you're not passionate?"

Lovino pressed his lips together. "B-but I," he began weakly. "I'm not good at anything. I'm not bad, but I'm just…average."

"No you're not," Antonio insisted, and he held Lovino's chin with one hand, directing his gaze to him. "I don't think you could be average at anything. You think too much."

"Th-that's not true. I-I'm not anything special, I_—_"

Antonio interrupted him swiftly with a kiss, stealing the words from his lips. He pressed gently but firmly, like he was trying to make a point, but didn't want to scare Lovino away.

But Lovino wasn't scared. His heart raced, his skin tingled, and his body all but melted into Antonio's arms. He felt safe, surprised, happy, relieved: like his mistakes weren't all for nothing. He was an idiot, but…

Antonio delicately removed his lips, and Lovino instantly missed their chapped sensation. Lovino was staring at them longingly when he noticed they were moving. Antonio was talking. Lovino looked into his eyes.

"Lovino," Antonio said slowly, and something playful sparkled in his eyes. "If you ever," he grasped the back of Lovino's neck and urged his face closer, "doubt yourself again," he smiled, "I'll kiss you until you can barely stand."

Lovino tried to glare at him, but his guise began to crumble, and suddenly he was smiling, small and shyly.

"God, you really are so much stupider than I thought," Lovino muttered, and he leaned forward to kiss Antonio, before he had the opportunity to ruin the moment.

~/~

The snow continued to fall outside.

It had always made Lovino quiet.

And for once it made Antonio calm.

He always played in such fast-paced, time dependent routines, he never got the chance to notice. In soccer, life moved so fast. Antonio could only glance at Lovino for seconds at a time, every game, every season, every year.

Winter was slow. It was still. But perhaps…it wasn't as bad as Antonio had always thought.

It froze his little world so he could take the time to know more than Lovino's jersey number, his field position, the color of his eyes.

In actuality, he was a lot nicer than he looked. His voice was surprisingly deep. But he didn't talk often. He was shy, but opinionated. He had a short temper. He frowned too often, and smiled too rarely. He read at every opportunity. He was afraid to write. He needed to draw. And he thought just far too much.

And Antonio realized he fell for him more than just literally.

_End_

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><p>~~

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><p><em>*Antonio's appointments were to visit the health office for his epilepsy medication. Most boarding schools won't let you keep your own medication, and they will insist on regulating it. If you forget to pick up your pills, then it will inevitably affect you negatively later on. Probably <em>_sooner rather than later._

_*An irregular diet, excessive __exercise, and stress can induce seizures for people with epilepsy. My brother has it, and this is often the case. (Also, Antonio's obsessive desire to better himself despite his disorder is something my brother has. It's cute, but troublesome xD)_

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><p><em>Fin! FINALLY. God, GB I'm so sorry, haha. I didn't mean for it to take so long, nonetheless for it to end up being a twoshot xD Perhaps, I'll make it up to you with another gift fic or drabble sometime soon.<em>

_Thank you to everyone who read this strange, little thing! Perhaps it isn't as weird as I thought while writing it, but it felt rather different. In any case, thank you :)_

_I'll be back to **Tesoro Mio** very soon._

_Please review! :)_


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